Habits
by haltedtacos
Summary: He walks through the halls with a smile too wide to be real. His laugh is stilted, his eyes blink too often and he moves too slowly... He is trapped inside a husk of his own making. The firewhiskey has stopped working and the monster inside her roars for sustenance. She has found a new habit.
1. The Best Lies Are The Prettiest Ones

The first time Harry has firewhiskey is with her.

They are on top of the astronomy tower, far past their curfew. It is the end of his fourth year, her third, just after the tournament and all the headache that came along with it. The night is cold and wet, and he is _so tired_ and all he wants to do is drink himself into quiet oblivion, preferably in solace, but she is there, all four foot ten feet of her, wisps of cornsilk colored hair buffeted about her face as she clutches a bottle of the wizarding alcohol to her like a child would a teddy bear.

He has noticed her before. How could he not? She strolls the halls of Hogwarts, bedecked in butterbeer cap necklaces, humming apparent nonsense about creatures no one can see. She stands out against the mass of nameless faces that fill this place, a stark blot against the plain backdrop of the wizarding world. There is fire in her every barefoot step as she walks, and this heat burns all who dare to approach her.

She does not notice him until he seats himself next to her. The cement floor is cold beneath the thin cloak he grabbed before leaving the dorm, and the moon illuminates the ever present bags under his eyes. He takes off the glamour when everyone around him is asleep.

He doesn't feel as if he needs it around her.

She turns to him as he settles next to her. Wordlessly she hands him the bottle, brushing away his half-hearted protests with no more than a raised eyebrow. Delicately, he takes the cool glass and considers it. The liquid inside gleams slightly, golden flecks swirling slowly. He has seen firewhiskey before, it being a common presence at the infamous Gryffindor common room parties. He has also seen it's after effects, from the stench of vomit the house elves never quite managed to erase from the armchair to the left of the fireplace; to the wizards left to wander about diagon alley when the bars close.

Seeing his hesitation, she takes the bottle back. Moving fluidly, she downs a mouthful. He spares a thought to wonders just how often she does this. He gently pries the bottle from her thin fingers. He squares his shoulders and tips the fiery drink down his throat. He chokes, and she laughs, and although he is _so tired_ of people laughing at him he doesn't mind when she does it.

He thinks he wouldn't have such trouble laughing if he was doing it with her.

They sit together until the sun rises, passing the bottle back and forth. He begins to slowly tolerate the fiery burn of the drink, and her chuckles lessen as his grimaces do. They do not speak. Their hands linger as they exchange the glass, and they silently agree that this, for tonight, is enough.

 _(They both find that demons are quickest conquered with alcohol and warm bodies.)_

When the sun comes up, he stands. Extending his hand to where she sits, still on the floor he pulls her up. He hands her the bottle with a smile _(the most genuine one in how long he doesn't know)_ and leaves. He should not see her again. He only needs one night to know that they are a habit he will not be able to kick. He makes up his mind as he hurries down the tower steps.

There will not be a repeat of this night.

 _(It happens, that even after he has made up his mind to stay away from her, she permeates his thoughts. He catches glimpses of her in the corridors, smells firewhiskey in the great hall, finds himself walking to the astronomy tower when he cannot sleep. She continues to dance through the halls like fire, and like a moth he is drawn endlessly towards destruction)_

He lasts all of two weeks before he is back at the tower, passing a bottle of cold whiskey back and forth with a little blond girl.

He thinks of her throughout the summer, as his days turn to grey and his anger fades to apathy. He thinks of her, and of hot firewhiskey on cold nights. As he moves from the Dursleys to Grimmauld Place , as his smile grows faint from how often it is painted on his face, his dreams are filled with her laugh. _(He thinks that maybe he is teetering on the edge of something very, very, dangerous)_

They are officially introduced in the fall. He sits across from her in the compartment, pretends to be disturbed by her unblinking stare or the wand stashed haphazardly behind her ear. When no is looking she winks at him from behind her upside down magazine. His startled laugh draws concerned looks from Ginny and Neville, but he pays them no mind.

 _(He begins to seek her out upon entering a room. When he does not see her, he is filled with something akin to disappointment.)_

 _(It is still more than he has felt in weeks)_

That first night back he finds himself at the tower. She is there, splayed across the floor, fingers leading a silent concerto in the night breeze. There is no alcohol, not tonight. He lies next to her, and finds peace.

 _(He wonders what happened to her to make her appear as damaged as he)_

When morning rises and they stand to leave, he dares to ask why she has taken up such a damaging habit at such a young age.

She smiles, and taps his forehead, directly above his scar, twice in answer. Than she is gone, robes swirling as she waltzes down the stairs. He, smiling stupidly, is the only thing left in her wake.

 _(They are a habit he will not be able to kick)_

As the year goes by he continues to fade. He spends his days in a haze of grey and blue, broken only by nights spent drinking himself to death atop the astronomy tower. He is relieved when his broom is taken away and he no longer has to pretend to be interested in Quidditch. He finds Dumbledore's avoidance ironic, and his new social status irrelevant. He works to inject emotions into his memories for Snape to find, and is slightly disappointed when it seems to work. _(If it's that easy to fool people, why does he even bother?)_ When he goes to the ministry, it is because it is expected of him, not because he wishes to.

When Sirius falls through the veil however, he is sad.

 _(At least, he thinks this is sadness_ )

Once he is delivered to the Weasleys, he spends his nights in a field between their houses. Their silence beneath the stars evolves slowly, from sweet nothings to quiet kisses to ' _always'_ and ' _forever'_.

 _(The best lies are the prettiest ones)_

They do not stop when fall comes around. In between private lessons and quidditch and stolen shoes and nargle infestations they steal away to quiet corners and love each other as if their lives depend on it.

 _(Don't they?)_

He dates Ginny because he doesn't need the _talk_ that would come if he didn't. He feels only slightly guilty at continuing to meet _her_ in old classrooms and atop the tower.

 _(The fact that he can feel even this is cause for celebration)_

When the death eaters break in his only thoughts are of her. If she dies, he will be left to live in this haze for the rest of his being. He cannot allow that to happen.

His mind is only half fixated on the funeral. Ginny's hand in his is tepid, and he cannot help but compare it to _hers,_ almost burning in their intensity. Her silvery eyes lock with his in the midst of the crowd.

She taps her forehead twice.

When the funeral is over, he breaks up with Ginny. He tells her it is for her safety. He thinks that maybe she suspects this is not the only reason.

Even she cannot be so blind as to miss the bruises that litter his body, or even the faint lipstick stains on his clothing.

Still Ginny nods, smiles, and demands him to be safe. He agrees, and is speeding away from her before she can kiss him one last time.

At Bill and Fleur's wedding, they sneak off and spend all of that night in each others arms. When morning rises and he pulls on his cloak to go, she makes a different request of him.

She tells him to think of her.

He wants to tell her it will be impossible for him not to. She has wormed her way into his psyche, until every breath he takes is in anticipation of her. The fire in her every barefoot step compels him, and he has fallen in love with the way she makes him feel like flame too.

He does not say these things.

Instead, he taps her forehead twice.

He leaves.

 _He catches glimpses of her in the corridors, smells firewhiskey in the great hall, finds himself walking to the astronomy tower when he cannot sleep. She continues to dance through the halls like fire, and like a moth he is drawn endlessly towards destruction_


	2. Monsters

What they have is not love.

She knows this as well as she knows her own name.

When he is gone and she has returned home, she spends the week in mourning. She does not eat, she does not sleep, she hardly breathes in fear of aggravating the monster inside her.

What they have is not love.

It is obsession.

When she was little, just after her mother had died, she thought the funny feeling in her chest that consumed everything around her was a friend. She decided that it was there to protect her from the monsters that surrounded her, the ones that took her mother from her and made everyone else sad.

When she grew older she realized _it_ had been the monster all along.

At first, it was satiated by the usual vices. Alcohol did the job well enough, regardless of what it did to the rest of her. By the time she met _him_ atop the astronomy tower, the beast inside her chest had grown immune to firewhiskey.

It only sometimes surprises her that he can quell it with a look.

She returns to school reluctantly. She does not visit the astronomy tower, she abstains from firewhiskey, and she continues to putter about spouting nonsense. If the Carrows beat her more for her 'insolence', that is one less muggleborn they spend time with.

Their blows cannot even begin to compare to the pain she is in.

She swears that when the war is over she will end the twisted mess they find themselves in. She has learned to tolerate the _thing_ inside her on most days, but a monster in withdrawal is an entirely different matter.

 _(The best lies are the prettiest ones)_

When she is kidnapped she almost rejoices. The pain inflicted upon her is preferable to that which she inflicts upon herself. She decides that she will die in here, and takes comfort in the fact that the monster will die too.

 _(She wonders if he is hurting as badly as she is)_

And then he is there, all messy hair and broken glasses, wand blazing, and the monster quiets. For a moment, she forgets her vows and has to concentrate in order to avoid ambushing him at the cottage. She spends two days avoiding him, not meeting his gazes and holding stilted conversations with everyone but him.

The night they bury Dobby is the night she gives in.

 _(They are a habit she cannot kick)_

It feels like coming home.

When she fights in the final battle, she does not feel. The monster is put to good use, and cuts down any masked figure in her way. For once, she does not think of him. She knows only of here and now. The monster is fed by blood, and she is in too deep to mourn the death of the last of her innocence.

 _(When she was younger she tried pretending to be peace personified. Talked of things that did not exist, stared into space and prayed for salvation that did not arrive)_

When his body is brought forth by a sobbing Hagrid, the monster freezes. It is shocked back to life by Ginny's screams. All she can feel is anger. _How dare_ that insolent harlot cry out over his body like a widow in mourning? _How dare_ she be distraught over someone who does not belong to her-

And then he is alive, rolling out of Hagrid's arms and firing spells into the opposing crowd, and the monster is baying for blood-she does not know how much longer she has to live so she will be damned if she won't spend these hours satisfying this beast inside-

The battle is over.

And they are alive.

And she longs to run to him, but he is surrounded by Weasleys.

He smiles, and taps his forehead twice.

The monster sleeps.

 _He walks through the halls with a smile too wide to be real. His laugh is stilted, his eyes blink too often and he moves too slowly. She wonders how his 'friends' cannot see what it is painted clear as day. He is trapped inside a husk of his own making. The firewhiskey has stopped working and the monster inside her roars for sustenance._

 _She has found a new habit._


	3. Expectations

Happy stories are rarely ever happy if you look past 'The End'. Harry Potter marries Ginny and gets a job fighting dark wizards because it is expected of him and he is so _tired_ of fighting. He has two sons and stops looking for little blond girls that frequent astronomy towers. Luna Lovegood spends her time trapezing obscure forests in search of creatures she knows do not exist. She dates a magizoologist who can at least pretend to understand her, and the monster she holds never quite learns to live without a vice. She does not drink, and she avoids boys with dark hair and too wide smiles.

When they meet again at a DA reunion, they do not do not slink away to a dark corner to cheat on their significant others, nor do they share one last glass in remembrance. They acknowledge each other as old friends, no more.

Four months later, Harry Potter is killed while on a hostage rescue mission. Before dying, he managed to save four wizards, including a little girl with blond hair and silver eyes.

Just two weeks after that Luna Lovegood disappears while exploring a forest in Switzerland. Before her death, she sent a letter to her boyfriend Rolf, describing her sighting of the crumple horned snorkack.

Somewhere else in the world, away from a Wizarding Britain in mourning, a black haired man with a too wide smile hold hands with a little blond woman. They walk together, seemingly nowhere.

Maybe they find happiness, or maybe they get close. Perhaps they regret what they've done, or perhaps they don't.

Whatever else, they have their favorite vice.

Maybe that is enough.

 _(They were always a habit they never could kick)_


End file.
